


The Opposite of Cozy

by mydeira



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen has her reasons for things being how they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Cozy

She wanted to blame Rhys. Maybe even Owen. Owen certainly deserved some of the blame. But in the end, Gwen knew it was really no one’s fault but her own.

Rhys proposed to her on a Tuesday, between the curry dinner she’d managed to arrive on time for and the washing up. She loved him all the more for it. Her Rhys was a planner and a hopeless romantic. The mundane little kitchen couldn’t be further from his ideal setting, she knew.

“I wanted to do the fancy dinner and night on the town, but,” he ducked his head, blushing, “I didn’t want to chance any interruptions. I’ve never been all that great at seizing the moment, but thought I might as well give it a shot. You always like it when I’m impulsive.”

“I love it, you mad, gorgeous man.” She slipped the solitaire on and kissed him hard, savoring the moment. She loved him, she really did, and hadn’t needed to see him bloody and cold to know it. Rhys was her rock, had been long before Torchwood entered her life. And as every day brought more uncertainty, she needed him more and more.

He was almost everything she could ever want.

Wednesday morning brought congratulations from the team, even Owen, who managed to sound sincere yet looked at Gwen like she had committed the ultimate betrayal. But that was Owen. Nothing simple or straightforward about him, never predictable. They’d eased into a friendship of sorts after the mess with Abbadon and Jack’s disappearance. They weren’t mates, but things hadn’t been awkward in a long while. That didn’t meant there weren’t moments that Gwen felt things spark between them. As fierce as their affair had been, there was bound to be a residual attraction. Odd moments where if things were different, if they were different, possibly something would have happened. However, Owen Harper didn’t look back. Neither did Gwen Cooper. Much.

By Friday afternoon, Gwen knew she was still as good at lying to herself as she ever was.

The morning had been hell, trudging through the rain and the mud to retrieve a rogue weevil that had been scaring up trouble on the outskirts of town. She hated to say it, but if not for Jack, they might have managed things fine. The four of them were far from perfect, but she and Owen and Tosh and Ianto had managed pretty well without him. If nothing else, they had learned to work together. The extra body upset the balance.

But Torchwood took the day and the weevil in the end. Barely. Tosh suffered a concussion, Ianto a sprained ankle and Owen a bruised ego when Gwen shoved him out of the line of fire, earning herself a flesh wound in her shoulder for the effort. Jack walked away unscathed, but volunteered to see to the weevil to make up for it. Considering how much the weevils disliked him, it counted for a lot.

Owen tended to Tosh first, then Ianto, sending them home together with orders to stay away until the morning.

“If she falls asleep, no more than two hours at a time, got that?” he instructed Ianto for the third time.

Tosh and Ianto exchanged a look before Tosh replied dryly, “He says that like this isn’t a near weekly occurrence for one of us.”

Ianto smirked. “It’s almost cute when he plays doctor.”

“Watch it, Jones, or I’m withholding the good pills.”

“Oh, no, anything but that,” he deadpanned.

“Christ, you boys.” Gwen grabbed the bottle from Owen and handed to Ianto. “Just go home and rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“And don’t you dare think about going on the computer, Toshiko,” Owen called after them.

They just waved him off.

It wasn’t until the door rolled shut behind them that Gwen realized she was alone with Owen for the first time since Rhys proposed.

“All right, Cooper, on the table.”

“What?”

“You can leave your shirt on, but the jacket needs to come off.” He didn’t look at her, busy poking through his instruments.

The rough patch job from the scene still held, and the wound had stopped bleeding ages ago. It hardly hurt. Though, after being shot in the stomach, her concept of pain was considerably different from what it had been.

“It’s fine, Owen.”

“I won’t have it getting infected,” he snapped, then looked apologetic. “Would you please humor me, Gwen?”

He felt guilty, of course. He always got shirty when he blamed himself for something.

“Fine.” She shrugged out of the jacket and hopped up on the autopsy table, inspecting the tear in the leather sleeve while she waited. It looked salvageable enough, but it wouldn’t be the same. One of these days she’d learn to not wear the clothes she really liked to work. They all ended up rubbish in the end.

Owen appeared at her side, shoving up her right shirtsleeve before removing the bandage and immediately set to work. “Doesn’t need stitches, you’ll be happy to know.”

“Could’ve told you that,” she mumbled.

He smirked faintly at her comment but didn’t look up. All of his attention appeared to be focused on the task of patching her up. “So, what are you going to tell ol’ Rhys this time?”

“The truth, I suppose. No reason not to.”

“What, that you got shot when you pushed your ex-lover out of the line of fire?” Perfectly even tone, as if he were merely commenting on the weather. But that was Owen; you knew he was going for the pain when he dropped the bluster. “Bet that’ll go over real well with the boyfriend—excuse me, _fiancé_.”

It was like all those months ago when things went to shit between them. The cold silences and sharp words spoken with near impeccable politeness. “We’re back to that again, are we? I’m surprised you managed to be civil to me this long.”

“Not good for team unity, is it? No fighting in front of the children.” He slapped the new plaster over her wound with more force than was necessary, making her wince at the unexpected flare of pain.

She tugged her sleeve down and slid of the table. “We’ve fought in front of Tosh and Ianto plenty.”

“Bickered, sweetheart. Subtle difference.”

And he was right. After Jack swanned off, they’d set their differences aside and focused on keeping things together. No room for grudges and hurt feelings. Bickering was an outlet but also mostly harmless. Now Jack was back and Gwen’s normal life had begun crowding in again and—

“Christ, what was I supposed to do, turn him down?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop to think.

“Yeah, actually.”

She gaped at him and he stared back unflinchingly, dark eyes seeing right through her. He’d had her number from the moment she walked through Torchwood’s front door. It was what had set them at odds from day one. He saw every frailty and flaw and knew when she was lying. Like the saying went, you couldn’t bullshit a bullshitter.

“Fuck you, Owen.” She grabbed up her jacket and headed for her desk to gather the rest of her things. Best to get out of here before things devolved further.

“Wouldn’t want that.” His voice was too close. Spinning, she found him dead on her heels.

“What is your problem?”

Owen grabbed her left wrist and practically shoved her hand in her face. “You can fool the man you think you love and the good captain who thinks you hang the moon. But don’t fucking fool yourself.” His gripped tightened enough that there would be bruises. “It’s all an illusion, Gwen. Live it if you want, but at least have the decency to see it for what it really is.”

She didn’t know which was more satisfying, the sting of her palm after it connected with his cheek or the loud smack that echoed around them. The red mark marring his pale skin also pleased her.

“There’s a nice wall right over there. Gonna slam me against it next?” He had no right to look so goddamned smug about it.

The kiss was electric. Inelegant, with too much teeth and not a shred of restraint. She’d been craving him for months. Gripping his too short hair, she tried to gain the upper hand. But Owen would have none of it, redoubling his efforts and making her fight to keep things even.

The desperate need to breathe forced Gwen to pull back, just for a moment. But that was all Owen needed. Still holding her wrist, he marched them to the lift. Owen slammed the stop button, jarring them to a halt after a few seconds of ascent.

“I’m not about to have Jack interrupt us before we’ve got this sorted, all right?”

She couldn’t fault his logic. Jack would happen upon them at the most inopportune moments. But, “The lift?”

He smirked. “It was close.”

“You’re insane.”

“Have to be to work here.”

Gwen laughed in spite of herself. “We never did manage to shag in here.”

“I always wanted to, though.”

“Me, too.”

Owen finally slackened his hold on her wrist, but didn’t relinquish contact as he slid his hand toward her fingers, catching on the ring and tugging it off before she could protest.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he shoved it in the front pocket of her jeans.

“We don’t do cozy, and we sure as hell don’t do illusions. When we fuck, the ring comes off.”

This wasn’t going to be a one-off. Gwen found that fact more comforting than it had any right to be.

She fisted her hand in the front of his shirt and hauled him close. “That works for me.”

Judging by the surprised look on his face, Owen had been expecting more of an argument from her. But he recovered quickly, leaning his full weight against her as he resumed their kiss from a few moments ago. Calm to frenzied in the blink of an eye. That was Owen. That was her. Things always were wont to go from one extreme to the other between them. They would never be middle ground people.

She had his shirt off and trousers open before he’d even started on her jeans.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I am.” No lies. It was a relief.

Her jeans and knickers landed at the bottom of the elevator with a dull thud. She kicked them aside, then jumped and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Goddamn, I missed this.” He nuzzled against her neck while he guided his cock to her center. “Missed you.” And he thrust inside of her with one, clean stroke, turning her reply into a groan of utter satisfaction.

Their pace was fast and brutal. Owen slammed into her again and again, driving her up the wall with the force of his fucking.

“Harder,” she commanded and attacked his mouth hungrily, finally gaining control on that end, at least.

And it was over as quickly as it had begun, release shattering them both so they stood there for long moments after, spent and clinging to each other for support.

“Fuck me,” Owen breathed when they recovered enough to pull apart and start setting themselves to rights again.

“Incredible,” she agreed, collapsing back after she’d refastened her jeans and closing her eyes to savor the aches of strain just now making themselves known. She’d be feeling the effects of this for days.

“Ready?”

She nodded and he freed the elevator, punching the button to take them back down to the hub. Gwen reached into her pocket to retrieve the ring and considered it for a moment. It was a lie, but it wasn’t one she was ready to give up just yet. She slipped it on as the doors opened and followed Owen out into the hub.

They worked the rest of the afternoon in relative silence, even after Jack rejoined them, looking rougher for his time settling in the weevil.

Half-past six, Gwen gathered up her thing to head home for the weekend. Hopefully. The last time she’d had an uninterrupted weekend away from Torchwood had been…never, actually. Something always came up.

“You and Rhys have big plans this weekend?” Owen asked when she walked by his desk.

“No, why would we?”

“To celebrate,” he prompted.

“Celebrate what—oh, right.”

Owen smirked. “How quickly you forget.”

“Don’t be such an ass,” she said reflexively. “He’s going to be out of town anyway. Conference up in Blackpool.”

“Lucky man.”

She was the lucky one. It meant she had three days before she had to come up with a plausible excuse for the bruises and marks she earned from shagging Owen in the lift.

It wasn’t Rhys’ fault for being the right guy to settle down with. It wasn’t Owen’s fault for being Owen. In the end, Gwen knew the fault belonged solely to her. Rhys gave her stability and Owen that edge she craved. She needed them both and was selfish enough not to give either one up. Not yet at any rate.


End file.
